Opposites Attract
by Spiralling-Down
Summary: Neville Longbottom is a courageous lion. Tom Riddle is a manipulative snake. Neville is light. Tom is dark. Neville is a hero, and Tom is a villain. The two are total opposites. So how, in the name of Merlin's fluffy bunny slippers, did they end up in a relationship? For the "Make the pairing work" challenge.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JK Rowling's. And I doubt she'd be very pleased with what I'm doing to it…**

**Warnings: Neville/Voldemort. Don't like it, don't read it. I won't be offended if you don't – to be honest, I probably wouldn't read it myself. But if you do read on, you will need some willing suspension of disbelief! Good luck.  
**

* * *

Tom Riddle

I've never fitted in with the other children at the orphanage.

At the moment, I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, my forehead creased in concentration as my mind whirs, deep in thought about this topic. I lift my hand, examining the tips of my long, thin fingers with interest. I rub my thumb and forefinger together, watching them closely. Perhaps a spark of energy will leap from my skin if I concentrate hard enough. I don't yet know fully how my powers work, but I could spend hours in this position, in silent contemplation of my abilities, testing my strengths and learning to manipulate the world around me to do my bidding.

Nobody disturbs me while I think, which is exactly how I want it. The other children try, of course – they always do. Some pathetic sense of curiosity draws them to me – the strange, solitary boy who never joins in with their foolish games. But somehow, the door knob always refuses to turn for them, and they soon drift off and leave me in peace. I'm glad to have them gone. I'm not interested in them; I'm _above _them.

It's me; I'm the one stopping the door from opening, I know it. Mrs Cole says it must be rusted, but it works perfectly well for me. And what does she know? She's just like them; she hasn't got the power, the magic, that I have. I can feel it in my fingers and toes, a tingling sensation that spreads through my body. At first, I didn't know what it was; I thought that the strange things that happened when I was angry were coincidences. But now I know better. There is no coincidence, only power. Gradually, I have learned to keep mine in check.

I can make things happen; things I shouldn't be able to control. I can make the other children hurt when they annoy me too much. I can make their insides burn and boil in pain until they scream and fall to the ground in a writhing heap, water leaking from their eyes like the pitiable creatures they are. I'm different to them. I'm special. I think they can tell, somewhere in the back of their primitive minds, that I'm not _like _them. They used to tease me and call me names, until I taught them better. They've stayed away from me since then, watching me from the shadows but always keeping at a distance.

It is better that way; I prefer the solitude, and I don't want to associate with them. I am magical, and they are weak.

* * *

Neville Longbottom

I've never fitted in with the rest of my family.

At the moment, I'm sitting on the edge of my bed thinking about this. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead on them. It's comforting, somehow, curling up in a ball and blocking out the rest of the world. I need the peace and quiet at the moment – I just managed to escape from Great Uncle Algernon... My aunts and uncles are all over to see Gran, and he's been poking and prodding me as usual to try to get some magic out of me.

Of course, it'll only be so long until someone yanks the door open and pulls me downstairs to, say, dunk my head in a bowl of water and hope I sprout gills, but for the moment I'm enjoying being alone, where I don't have to worry about Great Uncle Algie's constant attempts to force out my powers. It's never worked yet, and to be honest, I'm starting to think I'm a Squib. I've kind of accepted it, I suppose, but I do wish I was a wizard. Sometimes I spot Gran pursing her lips at me with disappointment etched all over her face. She wants me to grow up to be a powerful Auror, like Mum and Dad, but instead I've let her down.

I'm all right with Gran's constant glances though, I've got used to them. It's only when the rest of the family is here that I feel left out and... almost lonely. Just this afternoon, Aunt Bertha was reminiscing about when she got her first wand. She whipped it out and showed us how she made a stream of bubbles appear from it, and then all at once, everyone turned to stare at me, looking all sorry for me with their eyes softening. That's the kind of thing that makes me want to run away and hide in a cupboard or something, because it just reminds me that I'm _nothing_. I'm just a disappointment of a child, and _I_ deserve to be locked up in St Mungo's, not Mum and Dad. At least they were useful.

Oh no, here's Great Uncle Algie standing at the door-frame. He grins at me; he must have come up with another scheme to force out my magic. That is, if I even have any. I sigh; I'm in for a long night.

I love my family, I really do… It's just that they're magical, and it makes me feel weak.

* * *

**Author's Note: This was written for ****mysterygirl12345678****'s "Make the pairing work" competition on HPFC. I was given the pairing of Neville and Voldemort. Yes, I know Voldemort is incapable of love, but I'm just going to conveniently forget about that for now. So there. I never expected to write something like this but hey, it's fun! :D I hope you don't hate it too much, and thanks for clicking on it in the first place. :P There will be six chapters in total, by the way, which are all written already.  
**


	2. The Sorting

**Disclaimer: All rights and so on go to JK Rowling. Not me, unfortunately.**

* * *

Tom Riddle

I stand in the queue of First Years, who are being called to be sorted one after the other. They each seem to be in varying states of nervousness, wondering which House they'll be placed in. The boy directly in front of me, for example, is staring at the Hat as though he expects it to devour his head. I, on the other hand, am not scared; I'm not that foolish. I know that it matters not what House I am in, but whether the others in it will be of value to me.

The girl being sorted at the moment is small and round-faced, and looks terrified out of her wits. I smile knowingly, certain that she will be placed in Hufflepuff. I have heard that the meek and timid are often sorted there, and she seems to fit those characteristics exactly.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouts the hat.

My eyebrows shoot up; she must have some hidden bravery of which I was unaware. Oh well – she is of little importance to me. The huddle of First Years is beginning to thin now, and I wonder if my name will be called soon. Sure enough, mine is the next name on the list.

"Riddle, Tom," calls Professor Dumbledore, the teacher who came to the orphanage to tell me about my magic.

I walk calmly over to the stool, keeping my head held high, unlike the shivering wrecks that my fellow students have been so far. When I sit down, Dumbledore drops the hat onto my head. The second it falls over my eyes, a voice begins to whisper into my ear.

"Interesting, very interesting," it says.

_I take it you're the Sorting Hat_, I think.

"That I am. Now, where to place you? Hufflepuff and Gryffindor I can dismiss straight away. You're not what I'd call chivalrous and your loyalty… leaves a lot to be desired. You're very intelligent though, there's no doubt about that."

_Make your mind up. I don't want to wait around all day._

"Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed today," says the Hat, in what I can only describe as a mocking tone. "Very well. There's only one place for you, really. You're ambitious, cunning, even manipulative – you have it all.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The last word is shouted out to the whole school, and the table on the far right bursts into applause. I go to join them, a slight smile curving my lips. Yes, this is the right House for me. I have a feeling that I'll benefit from Slytherin. I am sure that I will find some loyal supporters here, who will suit my purposes very well.

Gryffindor would not have been ideal. So far, I've been given the impression that they are very hot-headed and reckless, rushing into situations that I may not want them to face. I cannot risk disobedience from my followers, and Gryffindors may stray from the rules I lay down for them. Ravenclaw would have been acceptable, but I fear that my house mates would not have followed me if they did not believe in the same values as I do. Hufflepuffs would have stayed loyal to me if I gained their trust, but they seem weak, and I value only the strong. I would never have been sorted there, in any case. But Slytherin – Slytherin will be perfect. Slytherin will help me on the way to greatness.

* * *

Neville Longbottom

I'm standing in a crowd of First Years in the Great Hall, waiting to be sorted. I can feel my knees shaking, and I'm sure I look just as pale as the rest of my new classmates. The whole school is staring at us, ready to judge us based on which House we end up in, and right now I'd like nothing more than to crawl back onto the train and maybe hide underneath a seat until I end up back in London.

_No. Calm down, Neville. Deep breath…_

I wonder which House I'll be in… I know Gran wants me to be a Gryffindor like Dad. She thinks that as a son of two Aurors who made the ultimate sacrifice – their minds – for the good of the wizarding world, I owe it to them to be as brave as I can. But I don't know... I just don't think I'm that courageous. I wish I was, but I'm not; I'm just Neville. To be honest, even hearing the Sorting Hat's song made me feel a bit sick, so I really can't imagine myself battling a giant or something. I don't think I'm brave or cunning _or_ intelligent. I suppose, in that case, I'll be a Hufflepuff like Mum, which would suit me just fine. Even if I'm not as hard-working or loyal as I should be, I suppose I fit into the 'everyone else' category. Goodie for me.

"Longbottom, Neville," calls Professor McGonagall.

My whole body feels as if it's gone numb. This is the moment of truth. Finally, I'm going to find out where I belong. I stumble forwards, wincing at my own clumsiness as I practically trip over the stool. I manage to sit down without any catastrophes (thank Merlin) and Professor McGonagall drops the Hat down over my eyes.

"Well, well, well… Alice and Frank's son, I see," says a quiet voice in my ear, which makes me jump.

_Yeah, that's right._

"I'm glad to see you're just as brave as they are."

_What? No, I'm not, they- I-_

"Don't put yourself down, boy. You've got a lot more courage than you give yourself credit for."

_I honestly haven't. I think I'm more a Hufflepuff than a Gryffindor, really._

"No, no. You're not a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin, there's no doubt about that. But you could do very well in either of the other two Houses, and I'm leaning towards Gryffindor."

_But Mum was a Hufflepuff, can't you just put me there?_

"Yes, I remember her. She was difficult to place too – brave, definitely, but her loyalty outshone everything else. Your father, on the other hand, was a clear Gryffindor."

_I wouldn't fit in with the Gryffindors. I'm not brave or chivalrous or any of those other things you said…_

"Give it time, and I'm sure you'll surprise even yourself. Yes, I'm certain about this one.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

I can barely believe my ears. The hat must have made some kind of mistake – whatever it said, I'm sure I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor. Of course I'm happy with it, and Gran will be delighted, but I can't keep back a horrible, sinking feeling that I'm in the wrong House. I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I forget to take the Hat off my head as I make my way towards the Gryffindor table.

"Take me back, boy, the others still need to use me," says the Hat, sounding pretty amused.

My face flushes bright red and I hurry back to Professor McGonagall, amid gales of laughter from the rest of the school. I keep my head down as I run over to the Gryffindors again, wishing I could sink into the floor. Merlin, it's only the Welcoming Feast and I've already made a complete fool of myself. This is going to be an interesting year.

* * *

**Author's Note: OK, the rest of the chapters from now on will include plenty of interaction between Neville and Voldemort in them. I just thought these two were important so I could clearly lay down all of the contrasts and so on between the two of them. I have to say, I'm not as happy with this chapter as I am with the others... But it's the best I could do. :P Thank you again for reading this far!**


	3. The Diary

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all the characters that come with it are property of the wonderful JK Rowling. I'm just playing around with them.**

* * *

Neville Longbottom

I sit alone in my dormitory, reading through my Herbology book. Harry and Ron are off somewhere (probably fighting another three-headed monster, if I know them) and Seamus and Dean are down in the common room playing a very noisy game of Exploding Snap. I'm quite enjoying having the dormitory to myself at the moment.

I turn the page of my book onto a section about Gillyweed. Reading about it makes me feel a bit thirsty, so I hop up to get a drink of water from the jug on the windowsill. On my way over, I accidentally trip over Harry's trunk, and bits and pieces come flying out all over the floor. Cursing my own clumsiness, I bend down and begin to stuff his things back into the trunk. My hand makes contact with something that looks like a diary, and I see with a shock of horror that an ink bottle is leaking onto it. I pick up the diary and begin wiping it furiously with my sleeve, hoping it won't be ruined, when I notice something rather odd…

The black ink, instead of staining the page, is soaking into it invisibly.

I know the book is Harry's private property and I shouldn't meddle with it, but I just can't resist. I pick it up and get out my own quill, deciding to test out my new discoveries before my dorm mates return.

_Hello_, I write.

I watch enthralled as the ink sinks into the parchment. It vanishes completely and I wait for another couple of seconds. Just when I'm beginning to think that nothing's going to happen, the ink seems to resurface on the page, forming someone else's neat handwriting.

_Hello. My name is Tom Riddle._

My quill blots the page in my haste to reply, though of course it doesn't matter – the ink just disappears.

_I'm Neville Longbottom. But isn't this Harry's diary? Who are you?_

_It was my diary long ago, Neville. About fifty years, I think._

_But how are you talking to me? _

_I wanted something more permanent than paper and ink, so I stored some of my memories in here. It's almost like a part of me, which is how I can speak to you._

I bite my lip. That sounds pretty dangerous – it's the kind of thing that Gran warns me away from. But I shake off my doubts and write back. I'm just too curious about Tom Riddle to stay away.

We chat for quite a while, and soon all my nagging worries are gone. Tom is witty and surprisingly perceptive, considering he can't see me. It makes me smile to talk to him, and I tell him so. He seems pleased, and I even begin to think of him as a friend. Eventually, this message appears, shimmering in still wet ink in front of my eyes:

_I can show you some of my memories, if you'd like. Show you Hogwarts during my time._

I only hesitate for a fraction of a second, before replying, _OK._

A tiny moving picture appears in the middle of the page. I squint at it and lift the diary up to my face to take a closer look. But as my eye makes contact with the parchment, I suddenly I feel my feet leave the dormitory floor, and I'm sucked into the diary itself. I land with a thump at the end of a room, right next to a fat wizard wearing a green cloak. I stand up dazedly, trying to work out where I am. I think I'm down in the dungeons, where we do Potions.

"S-sorry, sir," I stutter to the wizard, brushing myself down hurriedly. "I don't know what happened just then - I was in my dormitory and then... erm... I'm not really sure. Um… I'll just be leaving, shall I?"

The wizard gives no sign that he's heard me, but shuffles a few papers on his desk. I'm about to try to creep out without him noticing me, when there's a knock on the door.

"Come on in," says the wizard.

The door opens, and a handsome boy of about seventeen, with dark hair and a Slytherin tie, steps through the doorway. A Head Boy badge is gleaming on his chest.

"Excuse me?" I say to the boy, rushing over to him. "I was wondering if you could help me, I'm not quite sure where I am…"

But he too steps straight past me, walking over to the wizard – who I suppose is the Potions teacher – and standing in front of his desk.

"Good evening, Professor Slughorn," he says pleasantly.

"Ah, Tom, what brings you to the dungeons on a Friday evening?" Slughorn asks.

Tom? Is this boy Tom Riddle? Of course! The pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together in my mind, and I realise that I must be in one of Tom's memories. That's why nobody can see or hear me; I'm not technically here. I go to stand at Tom's side, feasting my eyes on the boy I've been talking to for the last half hour and watching the scene in front of me.

"I just thought I'd come and see you, if you're not too busy," says Tom.

"Not at all, my dear boy. It's always nice to see our Head Boy, of course!" says Slughorn jovially. "What's that you've got there?"

Tom brings out a box from behind his back. "This? I just thought you might like some crystallised pineapple, sir."

"Tom, Tom, you spoil me!" says Slughorn, beaming widely and looking a bit like a fond uncle. "That's my favourite, though I'm sure you already knew that."

Tom gives him a modest smile. "You mentioned it at Christmas, I think."

"And of course you remembered!"

The continue to talk for a little while about homework, Head Boy duties and potions. Even though the conversation itself isn't particularly interesting, I enjoy watching. I feel rather relieved to see that the real life Tom is just as thoughtful and charming as he was on paper. It's obvious that all the teachers like him from the way he talks to Slughorn. I'm faintly disappointed when Slughorn sends Tom back to his dormitory and I'm deposited back on my bed.

* * *

The idea of Tom Riddle prays on my mind for the next few months. He intrigues me. There's something thrilling about him that makes my heartbeat speed up when I picture him, and that handsome face haunts my dreams. I keep wishing I could talk to him just one more time, but I never get the chance to be alone in the dormitory again.

I get one of the biggest shocks of my life near the end of the year. Ginny Weasley was taken down into the Chamber of Secrets, but luckily, Harry and Ron managed to rescue her. They always seem to be getting into some adventure or another… Perhaps I should start making bets on when the next one will be. Anyway, they return to the dormitory quite late, and they obviously think nobody else is awake, because they start talking about the Chamber in low whispers. I listen raptly through the closed curtain around my bed, and then Harry says something that makes my blood freeze.

"I still can't believe that it was Voldemort in that diary."

Hang on, a diary? They can't mean Tom Riddle, they just can't… I hold my breath, listening even more closely for an answer, adrenalin racing through my body.

Ron shudders. "Can you please stop saying the name?"

"Sorry, sorry. You-Know-Who then. But he seemed so… nice… when he was Riddle. He fooled me with that diary."

I've heard enough. I bury my face in my pillow, my shoulders shaking as I feel myself begin to cry silently. I just can't believe it, I can't take it in. Tom Riddle, _my_ Tom Riddle, is the most evil wizard of all time. He is the person responsible for Harry's parents' death, and for my parents' loss of sanity. I should loathe him. I should want him dead.

But try as I might, I can't hate him. I just can't shake off the image of him as a smiling seventeen-year-old, his face framed in shiny, dark hair. And I hate myself for it.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm going to assume for the purpose of this story that the real Voldemort has no recollection of what his memory self has done, like how a real person wouldn't know what their portrait self was doing. I hope that's right! So basically, this will colour Neville's perception of Voldemort, but not the other way round. (Though of course, since Neville will be acting differently to how he would have otherwise, that will affect things.)  
**


	4. The Battle

**Disclaimer: I'm having a little bit of trouble persuading JK Rowling to give me Harry Potter, so for the moment, it still belongs to her.**

* * *

Lord Voldemort

I have won. Finally, I have won! The boy, Harry Potter, is dead, and I am victorious. I can see his body even now being carried by the oaf, Hagrid. His corpse shows beyond doubt that Dumbledore was wrong. Love is not a strength, and in the end, it could not save Harry Potter. His mother's protection left him soon enough, and then he was just as vulnerable as any other, whether he was loved or not. And I – I am a greater wizard than he could ever be.

People say I do not understand love, but they are wrong. I understand love more fully than any of them could ever imagine. I see past its illusion of wonder to the truth behind; love is a weakness, and I will never allow myself to be impaired by such a pointless distraction. Those people who are susceptible to love and trust are weak. It has been proven time and time again that love is nothing more than an imperfection, and yet they still insist that it is a strength.

I on the other hand would never let myself be caught in that trap. I will not give in to the vulnerability that it is to love. I cannot afford the risk, and nor do I want to take it. Love is no great asset, it is not a skill that I must have. It is merely an illusion. It is nothing more than that, and yet it makes men, who would otherwise have been powerful, weak.

I can _use _people's love. I use it to reach them, to make them do what I want. Look at Harry Potter, killed in a desperate attempt to save his friends, killed for his professed love. I manipulated him through his loved ones. It was always a failing of his; he couldn't stop himself from coming running to me when he heard the cries of his friends and allies and saw them drop dead before his eyes. He believed it was all his fault, and so he gave himself up to me. He intentionally made himself vulnerable by caring. And now, he has lost.

"Harry Potter is dead," I cry, my voice magically echoing out over the Hogwarts grounds. "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you laid down your lives for him." My lips twitch slightly at the lie. It was necessary; perhaps now they will be less likely to continue their fight. "We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters, will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."

The half-giant is crying pathetically over the boy's body now. Yet more proof, as if it were needed, of how love can only harm you. However, we continue to march towards the school, ignoring his sobs. Finally, we reach the front doors, where we are met by the remainder of Potter's army, all staring at his body in disbelief. There is a cry of despair from one of the teachers, and Bellatrix, already at my side, begins to laugh.

I continue to survey my enemies in silence, stroking Nagini's head with one finger. There is no need for her to be contained, now that we have won. She seems as delighted as I am at our victory, as she curls around my shoulders.

Suddenly, I catch sight of three of Harry Potter's friends, who have just seen his body.

"No!"

"No!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Their shouts seem to act as a trigger, and now their whole side is yelling abuse at us. A wave of fury flashes through me – how dare they try to defy me, even now that their hero lies dead before them? My wand streaks swiftly down through the air, silencing them.

"You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!" But somehow my silencing charm does not hold, and they begin to scream again, breaking through my enchantments. I do not understand… Hmm, perhaps it was simply lack of concentration as I was distracted by my triumph. Yes, that must be it. I cast the charm again, more powerfully, and their cries are extinguished once more. I continue to speak, telling them that Harry Potter died a coward…

Then suddenly I am interrupted, as a boy rushes through the crowd. I am caught between amusement and anger, but he is no true threat to me. I disarm him so easily that it is almost laughable, and he is knocked to the ground.

"And who is this?" I murmur, my voice cold. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix's eyes widen in delight. "It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

A shock hits me as I stare at the pitiful boy in front of me. Neville Longbottom… A memory rushes through my mind, of the day when Severus told me of the prophecy that has governed my recent life, the prophecy that ties me to Harry Potter. However, there was another possibility… Another who fitted the criteria, but whom I dismissed in favour of someone of the same blood status to me. This boy, Neville Longbottom, is the boy I didn't choose.

"Ah, yes, I remember," I say, carefully controlling my voice so that nobody will notice my surprise. "But you are a Pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

"So what if I am?" yells Longbottom.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

There is something about the boy that intrigues me. Perhaps it is merely the fact that he could have become my arch enemy, had I made a different choice, or perhaps it is something more. The way he stands defiantly before me reminds me of his parents, who faced me bravely three times. Though I feel nothing but hatred towards them, I cannot deny that their courage was admirable, and it is the same in their son.

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," shouts Neville. "Dumbledore's Army!" The crowd cheers for him, my spell broken again.

"Very well," I say. Rage is powering through my body, but I am careful not to let it escape. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head… be it."

He would have made a worthy addition to my Death Eaters. I am quite disappointed that he did not accept, though I never truly expected him to. It is, however, a shame. I do not want to curse him, having seen in him so many qualities that I value. But I must, so I decide on a plan, and I wave my wand, summoning the old school Sorting Hat. Confusion flickers across his face, and I smile to myself internally.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

I flick my wand at Longbottom, leaving him petrified and motionless, and I force the Hat onto his head.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," I say softly.

I wave my wand again, and the Hat bursts into flames. The boy is still rooted to the spot, the fire dancing around his head as he is kept unmoving and unable to do anything by my spell. Screams penetrate the silence again, and I am just beginning to allow myself to begin to revel in my success... when abruptly the night is plunged into chaos.

There is a sudden crash from the boundaries of the grounds, and I spin towards the source of the noise just in time to see a giant lumber towards me. A herd of centaurs is also rushing into the fight, and arrows begin to rain down on us. No! How – why – are they still resisting us, when it is clear that I have won?

But this is the least of my worries, as I turn back to see Neville Longbottom break free of my enchantments. He rips the Hat from his head, and plunges his hand into its depths, pulling out a ruby-encrusted sword. It looks like the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but surely that cannot be? I was told that the sword was lost! Longbottom rushes forwards, the silver blade gleaming, and before I can do anything to stop him, he slices off Nagini's head.

It is odd. As he cuts through her glistening neck, he looks up and meets my gaze. He does not flinch away from me as most people do, and strangely, there is no terror or loathing in his eyes. Instead, he seems almost… apologetic, as if he is sorry for what he has done to me and Nagini. It doesn't make sense – he is on the other side – and yet, his emotions are unmistakable.

No. I must have imagined it. Something about this boy confuses me; perhaps it is our past, or perhaps how he acts around me; but I cannot allow it to affect me. It takes an effort to summon the anger that usually comes naturally to me, but I manage it as I realise that I have lost not just my beloved snake but my last Horcrux, my last tether to life. An unexpected stab of pain rushes through me and I open my mouth, letting out a cry of fury. I welcome the return of my rage, and I feel that nothing can distract me from my desire to punish all those who have stood in my way, but then-

"HARRY!" shouts the half giant. "HARRY - WHERE'S HARRY?"

Harry Potter is gone.

* * *

**Author's Note: That may not have been the most interesting chapter in the world, because a lot of the speech and events are taken directly out of Deathly Hallows. But the next chapter will be primarily from Neville's point of view (he's sooo much easier to write!) with just a bit of Voldemort's point of view, and it'll become rapidly very AU, so I hope you enjoy that!**


	5. The Remorse

**Disclaimer: See the last four chapters. Nothing's changed.**

* * *

Neville Longbottom

I think everyone realises that Harry's gone at exactly the same moment. Suddenly, there's complete silence, as we all turn to stare at the point where his body was lying, and then everyone flies into a frenzy. There's more falling rubble, spells shooting through the air, house elves shrieking and giants trampling on everything in sight. Molly Weasley's just killed Bellatrix Lestrange in defence of Ginny, which I'm incredibly grateful for. You-Know-Who sees Bellatrix's body fall and lets out a horrible scream. I wonder if he really cared about her, or if it's just the loss of one of his trusted servants that he's mourning...

He sends a huge blast out of his wand, and McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley, who were duelling him, are thrown back into the wall to stand with the rest of us. You-Know-Who turns towards Mrs Weasley and raises his wand, when-

"PROTEGO!"

The bellow comes from somewhere in the middle of the Hall, and we all swing round to see who cast the spell. For a second, I think nobody's there, but then Harry appears in front of us, throwing off his Invisibility Cloak. At once, there are gasps of shock and whoops of joy, but the whole Hall falls silent as Harry and You-Know-Who turn towards each other. They begin prowling around in circles, like two angry cats waiting for a fight. Both of their wands are raised, but neither of them seems to want to cast a spell.

"I don't want anyone else to help," says Harry firmly. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

"Potter doesn't mean that," says You-Know-Who. His voice is a low whisper, mocking Harry. "This isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

"Nobody. There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good…"

"One of us?" taunts You-Know-Who. "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me? Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

"Accidents!" howls You-Know-Who. "Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and snivelled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight. You won't be able to kill any of them ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people-"

"But you did not!"

"-I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you."

So that was what happened! Finally, I understand how I was able to escape from You-Know-Who's Body Bind Curse out in the courtyard. It's only now that I realise just how close I came to death, and I feel so relieved and grateful to Harry that my throat starts to feel slightly clogged up and I barely even hear as Harry and You-Know-Who continue to talk to each other. Only one thing snaps me out of my daze.

"I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle," says Harry.

The name is a huge shock to me. I've been trying all night to keep thoughts of the Tom Riddle that I met in the diary, all those years ago, at bay. Now Harry's brought it all rushing back, and even though I know Tom Riddle's charm must have been a pretence… Well, it was a pretence that I fell for, and I can't seem to pick myself back up. It's a thought that keeps hitting me at random intervals as we fight. This man, the one we want dead, is someone I idolised for months when I was twelve. The idea disgusts and enthrals me in equal measure.

It struck me particularly hard when I felt my sword cut through the snake's neck. It was completely and utterly stupid, but for some reason, the thought that ran through my mind was, _I've just killed Tom Riddle's pet._

I actually felt quite guilty. Mental, I know. So when his red eyes met mine, I didn't see the evil wizard who's ruined so many people's lives, I saw the teenaged boy who was adored by his teachers, and – unfortunately – by me. I looked at him with more compassion than I would have thought possible, considering the number of people dead at his hands. I just… I can't hate him, however much I know I should. I almost feel as if I owe my life to him, which is ridiculous, of course. It's just, I've heard about the prophecy, and I know that he could have chosen to come after me. But he didn't, and perhaps that's the only reason I'm still here now.

This is quite possibly the most messed up thing I've ever thought in my life, and my hands begin to tremble at my sides even as I contemplate it. Why – why did he have to turn to the Dark side? He could have been great.

Harry and Tom have continued their showdown while I was thinking, though still neither of them have cast any spells. I come back to my senses just in time to hear Harry say, "Before you try to kill me, I'd advise you think what you've done… Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…"

"What is this?" Tom sounds shocked, and I'm not surprised; I thought I was the only one brainless enough to think there was a chance for him to be a good person again…

"It's your one last chance," says Harry. "It's all you've got left. I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man… try… try for some remorse…"

"You dare-?" asks Tom, horrified.

"Yes, I dare. Because Dumbledore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."

Tom's hand shakes on his wand, his long fingers somehow becoming even more white than they are usually. His eyes narrow to slits, and I'm sure he's going to curse Harry into oblivion. I feel my own body begin to tremble as fear for Harry floods through me, and then Tom's head turns. Very slowly, very deliberately, he looks through the crowd. Each person in turn flinches away from his gaze, until his eyes meet mine. I stare at him unblinkingly, my heart pounding in my throat, an unspoken understanding between us that _this _is the moment that Tom must choose.

Will he carry on as he was before, or will he try to change, try to feel remorse?

* * *

Lord Voldemort

I stare into the depths of the Longbottom boy's eyes, as if I can find an answer there to my internal struggle. I would have expected it to be easy – 'remorse' sounds horribly similar to 'love'. I know that love is only a threat to my power, so the natural response would be to kill Potter now and have done with it. And yet, there is something stopping me from acting hastily. When Potter mentioned remorse, several images flashed through my mind, one after the other.

Nagini's head falling to the ground, my last Horcrux broken... my pet dead.

Bellatrix toppling over backwards, the echoes of her maniacal laugh still fading away.

And the look in Neville Longbottom's eyes, filled with regret, after he cut off the head of my snake.

So of course, my first instinct was to find that look again, to see once more what it was that made me hesitate. My red eyes gaze into his hazel brown, and I am surprised to see that they seem to understand me, even forgiving me for what I've done to him and to his parents. My eyes widen in astonishment, and then a sudden, crippling pain hits me in the chest. I manage to keep myself from gasping out loud, but I want nothing more than for this stabbing, burning sensation to end. However, I know deep down that this is remorse. Without even deciding to give it, somehow it is upon me.

Pictures assail my mind, one by one, of each person whose death was my responsibility, every one of their faces pleading with me for mercy.

Lily Potter, her arms flung out in front of a cot, her face pale and tensed in desperation.

One of my Death Eaters who failed me, on his knees on the floor, staring up at me with a mixture of terror and hope.

An old Muggle woman, drawn up to her full height, her chin raised defiantly. I even feel regret for her death now. The blood that splashed across the floor when Nagini tore her apart was not as filthy as one might have expected.

_Pain, pain, pain, ripping through my body._

I sink to my knees on the ground, my eyes closing from the agony, only half-noticing the gasps and cries from the people around me. I feel like I am about to die. I want to die. Perhaps I am dead.

But isn't death meant to be peaceful? All I can do is cling to the hard stone beneath me, shuddering breaths racking my body, as I am forced to relive the last moments of every life I ended, feeling their suffering as though it is my own.

And I think the only reason I survive is because in the back of my mind, I can still see Neville Longbottom's eyes, wide and forgiving, guiding me through my torment.

* * *

Neville Longbottom

I have no idea what's happening. One moment Harry's talking about remorse; the next, Tom is staring directly at me; and just a second after that, he's sprawled across the floor, his entire body shaking violently. The whole crowd is frozen in place, unsure what to do. Harry seems to have gone into shock. His eyes are shut tight and he's mumbling something to himself that I can't hear. Tom looks more vulnerable than we could ever have imagined, and I'm torn between going to him and running from the room screaming, because let's face it, the chances that I've gone mad are looking quite high.

Finally, someone moves. It's Hermione. She runs across the Hall to stand in front of Tom, her hands stretched out. She coughs nervously and then begins to speak, her voice a little more high-pitched than usual.

"Everyone stay back. It's hard to explain quickly but… um… Voldemort made these things called Horcruxes, which involved splitting his soul to tether himself to life. The only way to put your soul back together is through remorse, but it's so painful that it can kill you." Nobody seems particularly bothered by the idea that Tom might die. I can't say I blame them. "I know this is a shock, but we're going to have to let this play itself out. You never know, maybe he'll be a better person by the end of it."

She trails off, sounding more than a bit doubtful, but everyone does what she says and keeps back.

The whole crowd is motionless and silent for a few seconds, and then someone cheers, and suddenly the everyone is swarming around Harry, who still looks quite shell-shocked, congratulating him.

"But I haven't done anything!" I hear Harry shout, but nobody listens to him.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick walk towards Tom on the ground. I see them muttering to each other about him, then they both bring out their wands and levitate him away into a side room to leave the Hall free for everyone else. I crane my neck forwards to see into the room, but I'm distracted by someone who runs forwards and thumps me on the back, and soon I'm surrounded by people congratulating me and grinning.

"Well done, Neville!"

"You were amazing, Nev!"

"I didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Can I see the sword?"

"That's my grandson," Gran tells someone over on the other side of the room, pointing at me.

A smile spreads over my face and I can't help but feel a swell of pride. Finally, I seem to have done something right; I've made my family proud. But at the same time, a nagging voice in the back of my head is rejecting the praise. Everyone has seen this as our victory, but I don't want to celebrate when Tom is alone and abandoned and in pain, shut behind doors. I try to shrug this off. _He's not Tom, he's You-Know-Who._ But Hermione did say that he might be a changed person now… What if she's right?

My mind is made up already; I can't leave him alone. I make my excuses, and run from the Great Hall. Breathing heavily, I approach the side room Tom has been placed in. I pluck up all my courage and, before anyone can stop me, I slip through the door.

Tom is stretched out flat on the floor. At first I think he's dead, and my breath catches in my throat. But when I rush over to kneel at his side, I can see a tremor running constantly through his body, and relief washes over me. I get into a comfortable position next to his head to watch over him. By now, I know that, though he's our enemy, there will always be a part of me that loves him and wants to keep him safe, left over from my long obsession with him. I decide to give in to that part of me and accept it, at least for the moment, now that there's hope that Tom will – perhaps – become a better person. Maybe he can go back to being Tom Riddle, instead of Lord Voldemort or You-Know-Who.

It is several hours before Tom stirs from his position on the floor. I drift into a trance while I wait, but I snap straight out of it when I hear him move on the floor. My eyes refocus on him, and I scramble onto my hands and knees, ready to make a quick getaway if I need to.

His hand slowly reaches up to his face, and he presses his fingers against his forehead, letting out a low groan – not a sound I ever expected to hear coming from the most evil wizard on the planet. This gives me hope, though I try to suppress it. After a second, his eyes flicker open. I clamp my hand to my mouth, unable to keep myself from gasping out loud.

Those red eyes we all know and hate? They're gone. Staring up at me now are a pair of dark blue irises, the normally slit-like pupils round and… well… human. People say that eyes are the window into your soul. Does this mean his soul's been fixed? Does this mean he's whole again?

"Neville Longbottom," he whispers.

His voice is still that strange, high pitch, but it's lost the cold, unfeeling edge that it used to have. My heart begins to beat faster as I gaze down at his face, white as snow. Then, without consciously deciding to do it, without even knowing why I'm doing it, I lean down and press my lips onto his.

* * *

**Author's Note: This is so strange… I can barely write it… I'm literally sitting here with my face in my hands wondering whether writing something like this is actually dangerous to my mental health. All right, people, there's only one chapter left and then we're done. Stick with it, I hope it doesn't traumatise you too badly to see Neville and Voldemort with each other… I salute you, dear reader, for even getting this far. If it makes you feel better to flame me, then go right ahead, I won't blame you. :P**


	6. The End

**Disclaimer: I'm still not JK Rowling, so I have no rights to Harry Potter. Shame, isn't it?**

* * *

Neville Longbottom

Five years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and somehow, Tom and I have ended up together. As in, as a couple. It's bizarre, I know, and not everyone's accepted it, but we're happy and I suppose that's all that really matters. You see, I was right; he has changed, at least to a certain extent. You can still see in him the wizard whose name I used to be afraid to say… But deep inside, he's changed, and all it took was a bit of love.

I feel a bit like Dumbledore when I say that, except less wise and without the beard.

But despite my newfound similarities to Dumbledore, my relationship with Tom isn't always fun and daisies… This morning would be a good example of that. I was going to St Mungo's to visit Mum and Dad. I hadn't brought Tom to see them yet, so I decided that I was going to face up to the facts once and for all today, and tell them about him. It didn't go as well as I'd hoped.

The first hints of a problem came when we walked into the hospital. One of the receptionists screamed when she saw him and actually fainted, and the other quizzed us for about forty-five minutes on what we were doing, who we wanted to see and practically everything else under the sun. Very sceptically, she eventually let us go on up to the ward, after I explained at least sixteen times that Tom had been fully punished for his crimes already and was now a changed person, and that I just wanted to see my parents and wasn't planning on murdering anyone.

But that was a piece of cake, compared to Mum and Dad. I made Tom wait outside, so I could try to break the news to them gently.

"Hi, Mum, hi, Dad," I said quietly.

Mum beamed at me and thrust a sweet wrapper into my hands. I pocketed it, as always, ready to add it to my collection at home.

"I've got something I need to tell you, something serious."

Neither of them said anything, but they must have understood, because they both sat up straighter and focussed their full attention on me.

"I'm gay."

That was an important point to make, I decided, though it wasn't my main concern, and wasn't even something I'd given much though to. I suppose any anxiety about my sexuality was overshadowed by worries about the man in particular that I was in love with... But that part went down well enough anyway. Mum patted my hand and gave me another wrapper, so feeling a bit more confident, I went on.

"I have a boyfriend I'd like you to meet. His name's Tom Riddle," I said. "Is it all right if I bring him in here?"

I got no reaction, so I decided to take my chances and I called in Tom. The second he appeared next to the bed, Mum began to yell her head off and started searching for a wand, and Dad tried to punch him. It was my fault; I should've realised that the name 'Tom' wouldn't spark any recognition in my parents. I don't think they could remember exactly who he was, but it was blindingly obvious that the sight of him triggered bad memories.

Tom in turn stared at them coldly, his lips twisting into an expression that I've become quite familiar with. When he's faced with someone he used to hate, he tends to become very distant, and I know he's trying to hold back his loathing for them. It hurt to see him like that with my parents, but I should've seen it coming. We got ushered out of the hospital pretty quickly – the receptionist gave me the evil eye on the way out – and I ended up breaking down completely outside St Mungo's and throwing myself sobbing at Tom.

Admittedly, he's not the best person I've met at consoling someone – he just stiffened and glared at me a bit while I cried on him – but being close to him was comfort enough, so it worked out. Our relationship may not be the most conventional, but we are there for each other when needed.

I suppose I should just thank my lucky stars that I didn't decide to date Bellatrix Lestrange. I'm shuddering at the thought, to be honest.

I'm feeling a lot better now though. We're back at our flat, and we've gone up onto the roof. It's one of our favourite places; mine because nobody notices us and causes a fuss, and Tom's because he still likes the feeling of power and being in control, and being high up above everyone else seems to give him that. And I have to say, it's particularly nice on a night like tonight, looking up at the stars. I glance over to Tom next to me, and I can see his eyes picking out each constellation. He's a bit more intellectual about it than I am; I just think it looks beautiful, and that's enough for me.

"Tom?" I say.

"I chose the name Lord Voldemort for a reason, Longbottom," he says, slightly haughtily.

I laugh, and he shoots me a dark look, his eyes narrowing. He gets a bit funny about his given name occasionally – it was probably the situation with my parents that set him off this time – but for the most part, he's happy for me to call him Tom.

"Whatever you say, my Lord," I smirk.

His lip quivers into a slight pout, though he'd never admit to it, so I roll over and lift myself up onto my elbows, kissing him on the cheek. He sits up and kisses me back. His face loses its impassive look and a fervour lights up behind his eyes as our lips mesh together. It's a while before we break apart and lie back down, staring up at the sky. I reach my hand towards him, and our fingers meet. For a second, he's unresponsive, but then his long, white fingers curl over mine. We lie in companionable silence for a minute, our fingers interlocked, until he speaks.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Oh, nothing much," I reply casually.

But I'm lying; there's something I want to say to him that I've never told him before, and for some reason, I've chosen now to do it. My stomach leaps, and I can feel a slight presence probing my mind. I can tell he wants to break into my thoughts, but he's holding himself back.

"It's just…" I trail off and take a deep breath, willing myself to find the nerve to continue. "It's just… I love you."

Tom's hand tightens on mine and he stares determinedly upwards, refusing to meet my eye. There is a long pause, so long that I've nearly given up hope of getting an answer, when he says, in an almost wondrous tone-

"I think, Neville Longbottom… I think I love you too."

* * *

Tom Riddle

I am lying next to Neville Longbottom, on the roof above our shared flat. My eyes rove across the night sky as I identify the various constellations above us. The Big Dipper. The Little Bear. I am shaken from my task when I feel Neville move beside me.

"Tom?" he says.

The name irritates me, which I realise is slightly irrational, as I normally allow him to call me that. But earlier today, I was forced to face two of my old enemies, and now the sound of my name has become sour again. It just reminds me of my filthy Muggle father, who abandoned me to the orphanage all those years ago and never once tried to find me.

"I chose the name Lord Voldemort for a reason, Longbottom," I snap.

Neville laughs, and makes a joke, ignoring the scowl I send his way. He obviously notices my displeasure though, because he leans over me, gazing down at me with his sincere, hazel eyes. His lips brush against my cheek, and I find I am unable to resist his affections. I sit up and return the kiss, my emotions beginning to deepen as our bodies become intertwined.

However many times we have done this in the last five years, I am always surprised at the feelings he arouses in me. He is my complete opposite – kind, innocent, understanding – and yet I feel an attachment to him that I cannot explain. Of all the people to become… emotionally bonded to… I would never have expected it to be Neville Longbottom.

Eventually, we break apart and recline back onto the roof again. I am about to resume my study of the stars, when warm fingers touch my own. I am faintly surprised by Neville's gesture, but after a moment of consideration I decide to return it. I truly care for this man, and I am willing to break the occasional personal rule for him.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" I ask, remembering that he had been about to say something before we became distracted by our desires.

"Oh, nothing much."

He pauses, and I have the distinct impression that he is trying to work up the courage to say something. I want desperately to know what he is thinking, and it takes a huge amount of effort to refrain myself from entering his mind by Legilimency. I do not wish to break his boundaries, but sometimes the temptation is difficult to overcome.

"It's just… it's just… I love you."

This statement shocks me, and I freeze in my position, my eyes fixed on Polaris. This is not what I'd been expecting; I do not believe in love, and though I should have known better, I never expected that Neville would set such store by it either. Love is a weakness, I've always known that, and that belief is fundamental to who I am. I do not love. I cannot love Neville Longbottom.

But I have been trying to break away from my old personality, and suddenly I find my mind filled with images, dancing in front of my eyes, visible only to me.

Neville holding his sword, his eyes conveying nothing but sorrow to me after he kills my snake. Potter and Dumbledore would have described his empathy as love…

Neville's gaze in the Great Hall, willing me to make the right choice, the difficult choice, and to try for some remorse. Even then, he seemed to care about me beyond the norm.

Neville's face hovering above me, concerned and compassionate, as I slowly resurfaced from a haze of agony. He was the only person who stood by my side and believed in me when all the others wanted to condemn me to death, even though I'd done nothing to deserve his support.

Neville's face, Neville's eyes, Neville's smile, Neville's laugh, all rush through my mind, filling my entire being with devotion and yearning for him.

And suddenly I know, so clearly that it's dazzling, that _this _is the meaning of love. It has been staring me in the face these last five years, but I was too set against recognising it to see it for what it was. Love. The idea is foreign to me, but at the same time, I'm certain – I know it in my heart and soul.

I am in love with Neville Longbottom.

The words feel strange on my lips. I am still dazed and astonished, but I force myself to say the sentence out loud, the one I thought I would never speak.

"I think, Neville Longbottom… I think I love you too."

* * *

The two men lie side by side, so different and yet so… at one.

Lion and Snake.

Gold and Green.

Light and Dark.

Young and Old.

But somehow, through all this, they _work_. Perhaps their differences help; perhaps they are not just an incompatible pair of people thrown together against all odds, but they are two sides of the same coin, or two poles of a magnet, drawn irrevocably to each other. But either way, they don't give a damn. All that matters to them is that they're together, the shattered pieces of the one picked up and fitted back together by the other.

Their relationship may be precarious, and it may very well be Rita Skeeter's wildest dream come true, but for the moment it's balanced – each of them on a different side of the scales – and neither of them are going anywhere. Dumbledore would be proud, because the boy he once taught, who made all the wrong decisions, has finally learned Dumbledore's most important lesson.

He has learned to love.

* * *

**Author's Note: So that's the end of the story! I hope you enjoyed it. The ending was rather odd and cheesy, but it was fun to write! If vaguely terrifying. (I was squirming the whole time I proofread it.) Thanks for giving it a chance, haha! Reviews would be very much appreciated, if you have a moment or two to spare, particularly as I'm not sure if I've got dear old Voldy's voice right… First person seemed to work best for this, though I normally prefer to use the third person, but Voldemort's quite a difficult character to get down, for me at least. So yeah, any comments, constructive criticism or even flames (come on, they're hilarious, and in this case, I really wouldn't hold it against you) would be very welcome. :P **

**A massive thank you goes to GothKat2SlashFan, who's been reviewing right since the beginning. You're absolutely brilliant, thank you so much! :D  
**


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